


Plaid

by tenshinokorin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bishonenink Advent Calendar, Gift Fic, M/M, no spiracorns were harmed for this fic but at least two ignises were, no unsolicited concrit please, running down a dream sidestories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 09:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17057159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenshinokorin/pseuds/tenshinokorin
Summary: Last year for the Increasingly Misnamed Bishonenink Advent Calendar, Hakaseheart wroteMegafanabout Luna's obsession with a round pink singing puffball. But what if there was something Ignis was also obsessed with? Something... forbidden. ...And slightly tacky.





	Plaid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hakaseheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakaseheart/gifts).



"Psst. Gladio. Do you--no don't react. Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" 

Gladio froze awkwardly, half-bent over the Coernix station's expansive jerky section, and tried to follow Noct's eyeline without turning his head. It was complicated, of course. But he was a professional.

"What're you--" Gladio broke off, his eyebrows raising. "Is... Iggy staring at Prompto's ass?" 

Noctis Lucis Calem nodded solemnly from behind a row of bacon n' cheese gysahl chips, where he was trying to not look like a creeper, and failing at it. "Yes. Has been for like a minute and a half." 

Sure enough, Ignis stood transfixed in front of a dusty pyramid of motor oil, can of Ebony halfway to his mouth. His gaze was unwavering on Prompto's backside as Prompto, oblivious, rifled through the travel brochures looking for good photo spots. 

"Not that you can see much of Prompto's ass under that picnic tablecloth he's got hanging over it." Having realized that this scenario required far less stealth than at first he thought, Gladio straightened up and gathered four packs of garuda jerky in one hand. "Didn't think Iggy was into the scrawny type. Always seemed to like a bit more meat on whatever he's boning." Gladio somehow managed to flex without actually moving, and Noctis rolled his eyes as he emerged from the snack aisle. 

"I'm not sure I've ever seen that kind of... yearning on Specs' face." Noct, even though he was well aware of Prompto's gifts and talents, sounded utterly bewildered by this act. "Well. There was that time when Quina's Kitchen Supply had a BOGO sale, but--" 

"He's probably thinking about something else entirely," Gladio snorted, picking up another bag of jerky. "Doesn't realize he's staring." Gladio raised his voice. "Or that we're talking about him and wondering if there's something about Prompto's ass that he needs to share with the group?" 

The effect was immediate, as Ignis started violently and Prompto, equally startled, dropped his slippery stack of brochures all over the floor. 

"I was-- was I-- what?" Ignis pushed his glasses up, took them off, cleaned them, put them back on, and pushed them up again. "Sorry. Was pondering what to have for dinner." 

"Yah," Gladio said, grinning. "That's what I'm talking about. Prompto rump roast." 

"Don't be outrageous," Ignis said, while Prompto, spluttering and dropping more brochures, slowly turned the color of a freshly-picked tomato. "Not that you'll have room for dinner, buying all that nonsense. Did you leave any of the junk food in the shop, Gladio?" 

Gladio shrugged, undaunted. "Some of it. So what's actually for dinner, o contemplative one?" 

"Toast, if you don't watch it," Ignis retorted, and took to the Ebony display like a man claiming higher ground. 

"I bet I know why he was staring," Prompto said, when it seemed safe to join the other two. "And it wasn't my ass. It's the plaid." 

"The... plaid?" Noct absently piled three bags of chips in Gladio's arms. "What are you talking about?" 

Prompto was starting to sweat, and his indomitable crest of hair seemed on the verge of swooning. "On my outfit. So. Full disclosure. Maybe this isn't how my Crownsguard fatigues came from the shop. I uh. Had Iris personalize them. A bit." He measured a tiny space between his fingers. 

"How much is a bit?" Gladio demanded, over the chips. 

"I just had her sew a couple of my old shirts to the hem. And uh. Added.... a few more patches." 

"A few." 

"I've spent this whole trip wondering how you managed to get a patch that says 'fuck' on it approved." Noct said, swapping a bag of chips or another flavor. "Even if it is black on black." 

"Get me another bag of that mandragora onion, Noct--Is there any part of your outfit you did not DIY into next year, Prompto?" 

"I didn't do a THING to the boots," Prompto said proudly, and then wilted all over again. "Oh my gods, you guys, I couldn't have lived with it like it was. I looked like a total weenie. Like. Asking-to-get-beat-up-behind-the-gym weenie." 

"You still look like that," Gladio grunted. 

"I wanted my ass covered," Prompto said, very small. "These pants are really tight, okay?" 

"It's been noticed," Noct said, in a voice that was almost as tight as Prompto's pants. 

"Which makes me wonder, what exactly Iggy was staring at." Gladio flapped Prompto's vest tails up in a perfect skirt-flip maneuver. "If he hated your outfit, you'd know by now, trust me. And it's not like you can see much under all this....oh. Oooooooh." Gladio piled four packs of mixed nuts onto the snack stack, as if needing to fortify himself against whatever sudden epiphany he'd just had. 

"What? What!" Prompto was flapping so many glossy brochures he looked like he was about to take flight. 

"I forgot... Iggy's got this. This _thing_ about plaid." 

"Oh no," Prompto wailed softly. "I knew it. He hates it. I've been pissing him off with my ass this whole--" 

"No," Gladio shook his head slowly. "He _loves_ it. But he can't wear it. I mean, is there anything _less_ like the official royal lookbook than plaid? Not to mention..." Gladio gestured them in close. "It looks ridiculous on him. Absolutely adorable. You can't take him seriously, which for him is the worst. And he knows it. One year for yule I got him some plaid pjs? and I didn't know if he was gonna blow me or murder me." 

"Which did he do?" Prompto wondered, equally hushed. 

Gladio, who was most certainly not currently murdered, straightened up and coughed loudly, startling them out of their huddle just as Ignis strode over from the checkout. 

"Right all right enough of that," Ignis said, waving one hand at them as he went by. "You can giggle about what boys you like and do each others' nails when we're back from this hunt. Those spiracorns aren't going to exterminate themselves." 

"Will you do _my_ nails, Iggy?" Noct called after him. 

Ignis Scientia slammed the gas station door right in his king's face. 

* * * 

Gladio kicked the hotel door open with a kind of practiced urgency, unwilling and unable to waste time on a doorknob. His arms were full of Ignis, blood-soaked and moaning faintly. Noct was hard on his heels, while behind him Prompto left a wad of crumpled bills on the hotel counter.

"Where you want 'em?" Gladio demanded, as Noct shucked off his jacket and threw it in the general direction of the chair. 

"Get him on the bed," Noct said, and in a flash of blue light a gleaming stack of potions and elixirs clinked in a heap on the mattress. 

"It's all a lot of bother for nothing," Ignis protested faintly, as Gladio laid him on the bed with a powerful gentleness. "It's hardly worth this much fuss--" 

"I'm the king and I'll say what's worth the fuss," Noct shot back, selecting an elixir from the pile. "And getting that spiracorn horn fragment out of your guts before knitting you up is one of those things. Get his shirt off, Gladio." 

"You just want to be able to sell it," Ignis sighed, and hissed through his teeth as Gladio peeled away his shirt. "And we'll have to pay the damage deposit on the sheets--" 

"Not the first time," Noct said, with a wolfish grin. 

"Besides, I paid it up front." Prompto shut the motel door and added an armful of towels to the makeshift operating table. "Had to push the old guy to take it, I think he's convinced you're dying, Specs." 

"I'm not convinced I'm not dyinnnnguh--" Ignis broke off with a gasp of pain as Noct uncovered a three-inch long sliver of horn jutting out of the wound in his side. 

"Jackpot. Hold on, Specs." 

"Can't hear you." Gladio shook his head. "Passed out. Probably for the best." 

"He's lost a whole lot of blood," Prompto said nervously, while Noct, with a deft hand, eased the horn fragment out of the wound. "Are you sure he's gonna be ok?" 

"He'll be fine," Gladio said. "More fine than he would be if we healed him up with this still in there, anyway." 

"I don't really want to think about that," Prompto said, but couldn't help coming over to watch. 

"Sometimes magic has more dangers than normal medicine," Noct said, and crushed the elixir bottle in his hand. The liquid and glass dissolved in a swirling mist of glittering light, and the wound in Ignis' side knitted itself back together without even a scar to show for it. Only the bloody remnants of his shirt, the bit of spiracorn horn, and Ignis' still, pale face gave any indication of the severity of his injury. Noct let out a long, slow breath, and sank down on the opposite bed as the last sparks of magic whisked Ignis' blood off his fingers. "It can't do everything." 

"It'll do enough," Gladio said, pulling the blankets up over Ignis. "C'mon, you two. Let him sleep. Want to go get something to eat?" 

Noct didn't answer, flopped back in the pile of towels and potions and already asleep, relief and the exertion of the hunt leaving him almost as exhausted as Ignis. 

"I'll pass," Prompto said, gathering up Ignis' torn shirt. It had only been a glancing blow, but sheer bad luck had caused the spiracorn's horn to shatter right at that moment, tearing through Ignis' shirt and his side all at once. "Not really hungry." 

Gladio shrugged. That phrase wasn't really part of his own vocabulary, but Prompto had been standing right next to Ignis when he went down, and he wasn't used to combat the way the others were. It would probably take a while for his appetite to return. "Suit yourself," Gladio replied. "I'll bring you back some fries." 

Prompto nodded, dredging up a smile from somewhere. "That'd be nice, thanks." 

"Shame about the shirt, though," Gladio muttered, as he shut the door behind him. "He liked that one." 

Prompto, left with two sleeping companions and a seemingly un-salvageable shirt, ran his finger along the jagged tear. "Yeah," he said, to no one in particular. "A shame." 

* * * 

It was another full day before Ignis was steady enough to travel again, a delay that he protested loudly and often, declaring they were just using his injury as an excuse to eat grilled cheese sandwiches and play pinball all day. His argument was somewhat lessened by the fact that he got lightheaded whenever he had to sit up for more than fifteen minutes. 

"Orange juice and cookies," Gladio declared, plunking them down on the nightstand. "That's what they give you after the Crownsguard blood drive." 

"Blegh," was Ignis' opinion of that particular menu. He'd have sold his soul for a coffee, but knew it was a terrible idea to have it. So he drank his juice and he slept most of the day and paid very little notice to Prompto being up to something small and fidgety in the armchair, just out of his line of vision. 

At least, until the next day, when Prompto and Ignis were packing up the room (and Noct and Gladio were getting in one last game of pinball). 

"Prompto." 

Prompto jumped at the sound of his name, but something about Ignis' tone was lacking its usual edge. It was rough at the edges, and gave a hint of something deep and secretive beneath. "Yeah, Specs? You feeling be--" 

"I assume you are responsible for this." Ignis held up his coeurl-print shirt, the lightweight fabric remarkably free of stains thanks to some Crownsguard magical secret. However, there was a blood-red slash of bright plaid fabric filling up the gap where the material had been ripped away. 

"Er." Prompto scrubbed at the back of his hair, sheepishly. "Well. Yeah. I know it's your favorite shirt... and it had a big frigging hole in it, and--" 

"This clashes like no one's business," Ignis sniffed. "And your stitching is... well let me say I know why your patches are attached with studs. It's actually... more atrocious than having the hole in it." 

"Oh," Prompto said, and did not quite manage to sidestep enough to conceal the matching hole in the plaid drape of his vest, where a swatch of the fabric had been cut away. "S-sorry. I thought--" 

"I don't know what you thought, but I know what I think." Ignis swallowed hard. "And that is... that it's maybe the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me." 

Prompto's head came up at once, fast enough to catch the fleeting brightness in the corner of Ignis' eye. "Ah-- it was... well. I had to do something while we waited, and I know how much you like plaid and--" 

"Who told you that?" Ignis said, and was suddenly very close, and very tall, and very dangerous. 

"Gladinooobody," Prompto said, unconvincingly, and then rushed on to cover his slip. "I didn't know you like plaid do you like plaid that's nice I like plaid too but you don't ever wear--" 

"Prompto," Ignis said. "Shut up." And then, to make sure he did just that, Ignis kissed him. Thoroughly, and for several minutes, followed by several minutes that did not involve plaid, coeurl-print, or in fact any other clothing at all. 

"So, ah--" Prompto said, after a long and delicious pause. "Is it true that you have plaid Yuletide pjs? Cos I'd love to see--" 

"I'm going to murder him," Ignis said, and went to go find Gladio. 

But Prompto was pretty sure that by murder, Ignis meant the other thing. 

He ought to know, after all. 

~o~


End file.
